


Unburied in the Snow.

by Grindelwald



Series: The Art of Poetic Self Destruction. [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, University AU, other things not tagged
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:14:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grindelwald/pseuds/Grindelwald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a boy leaning against the rough brick wall. He is taking slow, calculated drags of smoke, and Niall swears he's the most beautiful boy he's ever seen.</p><hr/><p>A Road to Ruin Spin-Off. Pre-R2R, so there will be no Harry in this fic.</p><p> In which Zayn sneaks off for a smoke of his favourite substance, and stumbles across a blond boy who's always been a little lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Beginnings

After a while of doing this - hopping from place to place - he’s become quite good at it. Some people notice him, a pale, blond mess of skinny limbs and hollow eyes leaning into the shadows of buildings and back alleys. Their eyes shine with question - some more pitying than others. Most people see nothing but a pile of trash, himself included and walk away. He has rules for this now. If he’s going to be somewhere it has to be: never more than up until dawn breaks, never more than two nights in a row, and _never_ again if he gets caught. There are rules and methods for other things, too, such as using public restrooms to wash up and running away from dodgy folk. Rules not to make eye contact and not to speak to strangers. Your stuff is yours until someone outsmarts you long enough to take it, and once it’s gone there’s no use running after it. Those are the rules and he swears by them. 

 

So, when he’s minding his own business curled up against the side of a local Starbucks, and someone slips into the darkness he remains perfectly still. He’s afraid to even breathe in case the white steam of his hot breath against the cold air betrays him. He sees a flame and then the angry mouth of a cigarette. The moment in which the boy lights the joint is brief, reeks of experience, but is also the first time he sees a glimpse of his face. He sees beautifully carved features, high cheekbones and lips of an angel. Blue eyes blink in tired confusion as he tries to process this, that this is happening. His slim fingers curl into the hem of his worn hoodie, thumbing over a faded name sewed into it with white string. _Niall Horan_ , it reads and it’s his only type of personal identification other than the provisional license he’d left all the way back home and the clay dog-tags his older brother made for him when they were younger. Blue eyes focused on the shadowed figure, scanning the lines of his build, lean and tall - but not too tall, he observes - with enough muscle to appear attractive without necessarily being hench, he runs through the facts. 

 

There is a boy leaning against the rough, brick wall. He is taking slow, calculated drags of smoke, and Niall swears he’s the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. Even if he’ll never see him again, and even if he only caught sight of him for a moment. The contours of his face, the parameters of his jawline are burned into his memory. The joint is burning away steadily, and the blond has never hated anything more than he hates the mortality of that cancer-stick. He wants to keep him there, in his line of vision, no speaking - no touching even - but he’d like to be able to look at him. To be reminded that beautiful things _did_ exist. His eyebrows furrow at the centre when a scent flares his senses, and he flushes at the realisation that this boy wasn’t smoking just _anything_. After smelling the stench off his stepfather so many times he can recognise it instantly. 

 

They sit there in comfortable silence, the other completely unaware of Niall’s presence until the quiet is snapped like a twig. Only it isn’t the sound of crunching wood, but the growling of the blond’s stomach. A hot blush flooded his pale cheeks and he saw the other boy tense up immediately. The boy turned to face his way, and he could see his eyes narrow, dimly lit by the yellow light of the joint. “Who’s there?” Niall has to keep himself from _whimpering_ at he sound of the voice, deep and rough, and he can tell smoking is more than an occasional habit by the texture of the words. He wants so badly to reach out, wordlessly, and just - just anything that would get him closer to that man, but he doesn’t. Instead he presses himself up closer against the wall, bricks digging into his back, flutters his eyes close, and wills himself to remain silent.

 

It’s useless.

 

This is proven true as he feels someone kneel in front of him, their knees brushing against each other. There are long, soft fingers brushing away his shaggy mess of a fringe and he hears a disapproving grunt. “Oi, mate, you alive?” It takes every cell in his body not to shiver at the sound of his voice, so nearby. Niall can’t help but wonder why he’s there. It’s not like people haven’t happened on him before. They normally walk away once they check his pulse, figuring he’s just another runaway - and he _is_ , so Niall doesn’t entirely mind - but when this boy checks his pulse, presses the back of his hand against Niall’s forehead, he cusses under his breath and scoops him up into his arms. 

 

After that, because of shock or whatever else, Niall finds it pretty easy to pass out. 

 

-x-

 

Waking up is Niall’s least favourite moment of the day. Especially when he’d had a great dream in contrast - not that his reality had much to offer in terms of blissful happiness in the first place. Still, he hates feeling the friction of his cheek against gravel, the cling of cold sweat to his bones. Hates the soreness of his shoulders and the groan that can’t help but slip past his lips at the thought of migrating to a new spot. Last night’s dream is fresh in his mind when he wakes up. Being discovered and rescued by the most gorgeous person ever, so beautiful he can’t be real. That makes his morning all the more sour until his eyes flutter open and he realises five things all at once.

 

He’s woken up on a bed for the first time in over a year. He is in a dark room, and not out on the streets. It’s _warm_ in here, genuinely very warm. There is someone in the bed with him, Niall can hear soft breathing even if his back is facing this stranger, and then there was the arm loosely slung across his side. The most pressing thing though, literally _pressing,_ is the hard ridge digging into his lower back. Swallowing thickly, Niall tries to find a solution, but it’s difficult because, really, how often do you fall asleep in an alley and wake up in a bedroom with someone’s dick against your arse?

 

Deciding to go for the most pacifistic line of action, Niall tries to disentangle himself from the man’s side. Two years ago, he would have assaulted the boy without a second thought, with skill that comes from pub fights and being the stereotypical poster-boy of Ireland. Now that he’s half the size he used to be, and lacks the energy to throw a punch, much less take one, all he can do is skillfully slip away. 

 

“Stop fucking _squirming_ ,” A muffled voice practically hisses, a face pressing into his shoulder. Niall freezes up and doesn’t move. Not out of fear, but there was something. An endnote to that command that _dared_ him to disobey, and he couldn’t see himself rising up to the challenge. Whoever this is, he has a power in his words that makes the blond shiver. Maybe he should be slightly scared, but all he can feel is wonder. Wonder that people like this exist, people with the power to bring a fighter like himself - on the run against all rhyme and reason for a year - to his knees like that. 

 

Blue eyes flicker to the door when he hears voices at the other end, doing a poor job of whispering at that. 

 

“ _No, no, no,”_ One voice, deep and calm says, “ _You know what Zayn is like in the mornings._ ”

 

Another voice cuts in, female, whines, “ _But it’s his_ ** _birthday_** _, Liam._ ”

 

There’s a third voice then, spirited. “ _I bought him a chainsaw for his birthday, and he’ll happily cut you both_!” 

 

“ _Matt,_ ” The other two seem to hiss in unison. 

 

“ _Look, there’s no sock on the door, and the stakes are too high not to take a chance_ ,” The third voice reasons with them. Niall furrows his brow in confusion. Is the owner of the solid body pressed up against him named ‘Zayn’?

 

Before he has more time to think about this, the door swings open and there are, as he thought, three people standing there. The first person who sticks their head in is tall, much taller than Niall can dream to be and probably only slightly shy of six feet in stature. He has brown hair, slightly shaggy, and equally dark brown eyes. Kind features altogether and while Niall would chalk him up as handsome, he still paled in comparison to the man in his dream. The girl by his side was clinging to one lean arm, brown hair framing a pretty face. Behind them was a boy taller than the brown haired boy even, probably capping six feet if not taller. Niall’s eyes narrow as he thinks of a nickname for each. The first will be called _Brownie_ until his name is revealed, he decides - the girl is Powerpuff and the boy, ginger and awkward looking, will be carrot-top. 

 

Powerpuff shrinks back at the sight of him. “He has company,” She stage-whispers to Brownie, and Niall has to restrain from rolling his eyes. 

 

“Didn’t even put a sock on his door,” Brownie says, voice laced with aggravated disbelief. “The _rules_ say that we have to put a sock on our -”

 

“Hi,” Carrot-top says, cuts Brownie off mid-rant, grey eyes meeting Niall’s from the doorway head-on.

 

There’s a lump in his throat he can’t quite swallow. “Hiya.” It’s the first time he’s used his own voice in days, it feels, and he flinches at the sound of it. 

 

A grin spreads Carrot-top’s lips and he reminds Niall faintly of Peter Pan. He reconsiders his nickname. “I’m Matt,” He tells him happily. “This is Danielle - Dani - and that’s Liam.” He ruffles Liam’s hair as he introduces him. “We’re Zayn’s flatmates - Well, Li and I are. Dani's his girlfriend - lives upstairs.”

 

Niall nods, doesn’t want them to know he doesn’t quite know how he got there. “Niall,” He says slowly, as though testing out his own ability to pronounce his own name. 

 

“Nice to meet you,” Liam says, but his face is red and Niall has no idea why.

 

“Too much fucking noise.” The voice from earlier hisses and the arm that was around his waist slides away. Niall absently registers missing its presence, but takes this opportunity to roll onto his back and sit up. His head doesn’t throb or show any signs of having had a pitcher or two. Not that, that surprises him. No respectable bar would let him in looking the way he usually did. 

 

As an after thought, he gives a sideways glance to this ‘Zayn’ only to be dumbfounded by what he was met with. The lighting in the room, dim or not, is still more substantial than the night before. He can pinpoint his skin-tone and the number of tattoos stretching across his flesh, can narrow down precisely which shade of perfect his smouldering irises are and measure the thickness and length of his ridiculously pretty eyelashes. Even with all this considered, he knows that this is the boy he saw in his dream. 

 

“You’re up,” Zayn says, meeting his eyes. “I thought you’d be passed out all day long.”

 

“Y’what?” Niall says gruffly. 

 

“Oh, of fucking course the wanker doesn’t remember. Just my pissing luck,” Zayn seems to mutter to himself before sitting up and shooting the other three a glare that could bring grown men to their knees. “Why?” Is all he asks, like he’s used to this, angry as he is, like yelling at them would be a waste of his breath. His perfect lips are set in a frown as he voices this, and it doesn’t waver even as they break into a unified exclamation of _Happy Birthday._ Once they’re done, Liam blows a whistle and Danielle does a spin and Zayn still doesn’t look amused, he speaks again. “Have you quite finished?”

 

For no good reason at all, Niall finds himself completely infatuated.

 

-x-

 

“You had a fever,” Zayn explains like it’s obvious, taking a sip of his coffee. “Lounging outside when it’s fucking freezing will do that. Why were you there anyway?”

 

“A-Ah, had a few drinks, y’know? Can’t control meself sometimes.” Niall lies clumsily, but if it’s unbelievable Zayn makes no show of caring. They are sitting around a cramped kitchen table, there is a cake at the centre that’s already been mutilated and Niall is happily indulging in some sausages. Liam isn’t the best cook, but it feels like the nicest food he’s had in his life. 

 

“How lucky for me then,” Zayn snaps. “Do you go to this Uni?”

 

“Ah... No, m’fresh outta school.” It’s not a complete lie, but it still feels like one. “I’ve got... relatives here, y’know?”

 

“Right,” Zayn says like he couldn’t care less. He reaches over for a piece of toast before he speaks again. “You should clean up before you head out, my parents would have a heart-attack if they saw _me_ like that, mate.” 

 

Niall winces, knows that he looks past the point of awful and curses his rotten luck for having met a sex-god in his current state. “Thanks,” He says. 

 

“No problem, mate.” He stands up then, and Niall’s blue eyes follow him. “I’ve a bloody GP visit, so I have to dash. If you need anything, Liam’s in charge - Nice meeting you.”

 

And that’s it. Zayn walks away and leaves Niall with a dish of sausages, seemingly unaware of the fact what he did last night was the first nice thing that’s happened to Niall in too long. He feels ill.

 

-x-

 

Niall doesn’t have many things he can call his own. There are his dog tags, the clothes on his back, a scar his stepfather had _bestowed_ upon him, and a photograph. It’s him, Greg, and his folks before the divorce. Back in Ireland, and the dripping bliss on his face makes his mood darken instantly, and without fail. He thumbs over Greg’s face, blue eyes pooling with tears and wants to hate him so badly. It started there, didn’t it? His life going downhill, but then he realised he can’t do that to Greg. Can’t do that to himself either. There’s nothing harder than fighting with someone who can’t argue back. It’s this that he’s thinking about while he’s sat in a blanket of snow, trying to ignore how wet his jeans felt and the bristling cold of everything. He almost falls asleep like this, until he hears a voice.

 

“It’s a nice place you’ve got here.” He looks up, and it’s Zayn. It’s been three long weeks since they last saw each other, but his heart still pathetically skips a beat. “Any chance of meeting your family, or are they buried in the snow?”

 

Niall doesn’t answer, can’t form words. “How’d you find me?” He furrows his eyebrow. Sure, he’s outside Starbucks again, but it’s nearly been a month since. It doesn’t make sense that Zayn would remember meeting him _there_ of all places. 

 

“I check every now and then,” He says gruffly. “Other days I have Liam check. You’re a fucking awful liar, mate.” 

 

“Oh,” is all he can say before he’s being lifted to his feet and steered away. 

 

They walk to the student flat where Zayn and co. live, everyone seems ridiculously pleased about seeing him. Danielle even pulls him into a hug, which strikes him as odd since they didn’t even exchange words last time they saw each other. Matt is sitting on the couch, but he waves at him and there is a boy that Niall didn’t see the last time he was there lying down on the couch, head in Matt’s lap. Liam’s in the kitchen trying again to make something decent, and it feels warm and disturbingly comfortable. Like he’s meant to stumble back here no matter how many times he strays away. Zayn makes him change into warm clothes - lending him some of his own and they’re about a size too large, but the blond’s grateful regardless.

 

They sit together and watch the Inbetweeners, the brunette who’s clinging to Matt’s side - who is named Louis, apparently - cringes and leaves at that point, exclaiming that the Inbetweeners is a shameful excuse for a popular television programme. Niall’s never seen it before, and Zayn loves it which makes him want to watch all the episodes again and again until he’s memorised them. Before, he didn’t know why, but now he’s pretty sure it’s because Zayn is his guardian angel. Later when he’s drunk and slouched on a kitchen chair, with no one for company except Liam who looks pretty drunk himself, he says this aloud.

 

Liam laughs, says, “Yeah, an angel of death. He is literally - _literally_ the most ridiculous person I know.”

 

Apparently Zayn has the worst temper on the planet, and while this doesn’t surprise Niall, it doesn’t discourage him either. What Liam says next does, though.

 

“Zayn says - says you’re gonna stay here from now on, which is great, I think. Truly fantastic,” As he’s speaking Louis enters the kitchen and starts fixing himself a cup of tea. He has an obscure band shirt on, completely different from the blouse he was sporting just hours earlier, and he is sober. “There are _rules_ though.”

 

“Rules?” Niall echoes, and Louis snorts into his tea. 

 

“Er, well, if you’re _busy_ , you have to put a sock on your door. - You’ll be staying in Zayn’s room for a bit until we clear out the spare room. Don’t bring anyone home until, you know, you have your own room. Speaking of, that wanker forgets to put a sock on his _all_ the time. - Louis, we need to talk to him about that,” He’s forgotten Niall at this point and drunkenly fixes Louis with the most potent set of puppy dog eyes Niall’s ever _seen_. “We... We need to talk to him about it!”

 

“Okay, love,” Louis says patiently, but it’s clear he has no intention of doing so.

 

“Right,” Satisfied, Liam looks at Niall again. “Label any food you don’t want people touching, or don’t cry when it’s gone - er, no touching Danielle - I _mean it_ \- and, and - what else, Lou?”

 

“No sleeping with Zayn.” The statement catches him off guard. Discourages him in an instant. 

 

“Oh yeah!” Liam says. “Yeah, no - no fucking with the Bradford Bad Boy. No one who does ever stays, Zayn won’t let ‘em so - no sex with Zayn.”

 

“I never said I swung that way in the first place,” Niall points out defensively.

 

“Nobody’s _that_ straight,” Louis says, and both Niall and Liam can’t help but laugh even though Niall thinks it’s nothing but the truth. 

 

“I won’t sleep with him, alright?” Niall says and Liam claps his hands together with excitement, but when he meets Louis’s eyes he sees the disbelief. That’s not even the worst part, he knows Louis is right. If he had the chance, he would take it in a heartbeat.

 


	2. Snowfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘No sleeping with Zayn.’_ The words echo in his brain as he stands up straight, faces everyone head on. The last thing he thinks about before taking a deep breath isn’t the potential humiliation, it’s an honest, solemn wish that they’d have warned him not to fall in love with him either.

For a vagrant, settling somewhere seems like the worst thing that could ever happen, but Niall finds it surprisingly easy to conform to his new home. He even becomes friends with everyone, spends his breakfasts being a running commentator of Liam’s awful cooking, much to Danielle’s amusement, his lunchtime at the Medical Centre with Zayn who claims to only be grateful because most of the people in his course are nuts, and his evenings with Louis who tells him about Plath, Bronte, and other depressing authors. Niall continuously wonders if Louis is depressed, too, because he seems in his element only when he’s reciting lines from the Bell Jar, and he’s mentioned once or twice that he would love to kill himself in a novel. Matt is nice, probably Niall’s favourite, shy of Zayn of course. They can talk about rugby and football all they want without Matt cutting Niall off anywhere, and he lets Niall play on his Xbox whenever he wants to which is really nice. He manages to live with them for six whole months without even _trying_ to run away, something that past Niall would have scoffed at. Still, there is one thing that remains as a separator between himself and the others. Often, they’re hunched over coursework and killing themselves because of projects, whereas Niall lives to eat, sleep, and lust after Zayn. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about that one. Back in Ireland, he didn’t have a _whole_ lot going for him. He is still fairly great at singing, and can probably still play the guitar if one is ever handed to him, but it doesn’t seem like it’s a part of his life anymore. Which is weird, really strange, since before he ran away music seemed to be his entire life.

 

Now it isn’t. 

 

He mentions this, absently, to Louis one night when he’s extremely drunk and Liam and Zayn are singing the theme song of _Friends_ to Danielle. He first notes that they both have great voices, just about keeps himself from swooning when Zayn hits a high note that makes him want to fling himself off a cliff. Then, “I used to sing.”

 

Normally Louis dismisses everything he says with a bit of classy snark. This time all he says is, “Me, too, mate. Me, too.”

 

“Really?” Niall raises his eyebrows. Louis shoots him a withering look. “Sorry, y’don’t really come across as someone who, er, who is -”

 

“Talented? I’m not. I just used to sing.” Louis cuts in with disdain. “Sing.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean - what?” Niall nearly chokes, barely registers the fact the other two have stopped singing and Danielle is pulling Liam to sit on her lap (“Dani, I’m too _heavyyyyy_.”), that Zayn is staring at them both intently. 

 

“ _Sing_ ,” Louis repeats. Blue eyes blink at the boy, unsure if he’s being serious or not. 

 

“I - I’m not very good.” Niall says quickly, trying to get himself out of this situation. 

 

“Zayn,” Louis says coolly, but his ocean blue eyes never leave Niall’s. There is clear malice written there. “Will you be our Simon Cowell for the night?”

 

“I’m always fucking _Simon_ , innit?” He growls unkindly. Niall wants to look at his expression, because he really, really likes looking at him. Likes thinking about mapping out his cheekbones with the tips of his fingers, brushing his thumb against that perfect, plush lower lip and claiming every word he’s ever said to Niall and immortalising it in a kiss. While he loves looking at him, and getting lost in doing so, there is a note of firmness in Louis’s eyes that makes it impossible to look away. 

 

“You have the attitude for it,” Louis claims, “Look here, Horan. If Mr. Cowell gives you a nod yes, then I get to make you into an idol.” He doesn’t quite know what he means. “If he doesn’t, then I’ll bake you a cake using your girlish tears and say you won, alright?”

 

“Why would I want a cake made of tears?” Niall asks, rather dumbly, and Zayn snorts. 

 

“Just - Just are we doing this or are we not?” Louis asks impatiently.

 

“I have nothing to lose,” Niall has never been praised by Zayn before, and doubts it’ll happen now, but if it does then he’d count it as a win for him anyway.

 

“Good lad,” Louis grins wickedly. “Liam, choose a song.”

 

“Uhhh,” Liam hesitates, gives Danielle a helpless look. Niall thinks it’s both sickening and adorable when he smiles like a lovesick puppy when Danielle squeezes his shoulder and gives him a reassuring look. “So Sick, by Ne-yo.”

 

“Liam, tell him how you really feel,” Matt says, coming in from the doorway and making a show of clutching his chest in pain. “What are we doing?” He says and plops down onto the couch. Louis crawls over to him and leans against him. 

 

“Niall’s going to sing for us,” Louis informs him. “Go on then, Horan.” 

 

It’s like performing in front of a crowd, or feels that way, so Niall ducks his head and trains his eyes on the linoleum, mumbling out the first few lines before Zayn is suddenly in front of him and shakes him by the shoulders. “Nialler,” He slurs, and Niall’s eyes flicker up to meet his. He can’t help the surge or electricity he feels overtake him at the careless touch.  Can’t help but notice the way Zayn’s eyes acknowledge Niall’s carnal _want_ for a moment and mirror it, even if it’s only there for a split second. “If you’re gonna waste my fucking time, don’t.” He’s never used to how much of everything there is in Zayn’s eyes, intense as hellfire and impossible to look away from. “If you’re going to sing, great - if not, then - then, nah, mate just do it.”

 

There it is, a command, and if Zayn _knew_ \- knew that there is simply nothing he could ask that Niall wouldn’t blindly say yes to, he would have probably said it sooner. 

 

“Okay,” Niall swallows thickly and Zayn releases him, backing away and looking at him expectantly. Louis’s expression has darkened and Niall’s probably the only person in the room who knows why. 

 

‘ _No sleeping with Zayn.’_   The words echo in his brain as he stands up straight, faces everyone head on. The last thing he thinks about before taking a deep breath isn’t the potential humiliation, it’s an honest, solemn wish that they’d have warned him not to fall in love with him either. Then he begins, belting out the sound the best way he knows how, pours in everything he’s capable of feeling into every note. He doesn’t even realise his eyes are shut until he has to flutter them open when he’s done, and he’s greeted with shocked faces. Didn’t notice that he’d slipped into his own world a moment ago until he feels suddenly legless. He realises the following truth then: music is still basically his entire life - just now it has to share that slot with Zayn, too. 

 

Matt is the first to speak, his mouth set in an unbearable grin, “It’s like I’m rooming with the fucking X-factor.” 

 

The Danielle whistles. “Wow, Horan, didn’t know you had it in you.

 

Louis and Liam are quick to agree, with a ‘Wow’ and a ‘That was terrific!’ respectively.

 

None of this matters, because then Zayn locks eyes with him dead-on and says, “You fucking wanker, where’ve you been hiding _that_?” There’s a smile on his face. Zayn is _smiling_ , and it’s the first Niall’s ever seen him do that. Time seems to slow down so it’s only the two of them, only Niall and Zayn and his perfect smile. It knocks the air out of him and makes his heart beat faster all at once. He curses anyone who’s ever taken that smile off his face before because it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He feels like dying again and again and just reincarnating as something, anything that would grant him the power of being the only person who can see that smile whenever he wants to. 

 

Then their world is broken by hands steering him away from Zayn and toward the bathroom. “Looks like you’re going to hollywood,” Louis grins evilly and Niall is honestly quite scared. 

 

-x-

 

Niall’s been blond for a while. He likes to say he tries his best to stay that way, but it’s difficult to touch up your roots when you’re homeless. Recently his hair’s been more brown than anything, burnt blond at the ends. Now Louis is wearing gloves and is wickedly lathering his hair with thick amounts of peroxide. “You know, you’re not making it too blond are you?” Niall croaks. 

 

“Try Billy _Idol_ blond,” Matt offers, doubling over with laughter. 

 

“No. _Nonononono_.”

 

“The rules of the game, Horan,” is all Louis says and Niall swears, fucking swears he’ll never make a bet with Louis ever again.

 

-x-

 

There’s a thunderstorm outside.

 

There’s no electricity in the house.

 

It’s three AM.

 

These are all good reasons as to why Niall is hiding in the closet by the entrance, cradling himself and sniffling into his jeans. He can’t stand thunder, not anymore. It used to just mean storms but now it meant bleeding wrists, a litany of _“such a filthy whore”_ and hollowly staring at a gravestone. And he’s alone, he’s so incredibly alone because Louis went home for the weekend, and the others went clubbing and all Niall can do is cling to himself and battle out his demons on his own. 

 

His heart practically stops at the sound of banging at the main door. Frustrated and impatient. He doesn’t move, can’t move. Once before he opened the door, and it wasn’t any of them and the girl wouldn’t leave for an entire hour convinced it was her house. There’s the sound of metal falling to the floor and a struggle to retrieve it. Then the door is unlocked. The closet door is ajar as always, Liam says to keep it open because once it’s shut it takes a crowbar and a hench neighbour to force it open again. If he wants to, Niall could walk out and see who’s home, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want any of them to have to see him like this. Disposable. He doesn’t want to be any more dispensable than he already is. But there are staggered breaths coming from the other end of the darkness. He hears something hit the wall and slide down in defeat, a painful groan drawn out the entire time. He doesn’t need to see him to know who it is, Niall _knows_ from the way every cell in his body seems to feel joy and pain at the same time, knows from the way all his nerves dance in apprehension and the hairs at the nape of his neck stand at attention. Taking a deep breath, Niall rubs uselessly at his eyes before crawling over to the source of the noise. 

 

Zayn is slumped against the wall, breathing shakily and when his head turns to face him abruptly, he winces in pain. Niall furrows his brow in concern. “Zayn?” He breathes out, though he knows it’s him, and he lets the boy draw him closer when he reaches out for him.

 

“Niall,” Zayn says roughly. “I’m bleeding.”

 

Niall honestly can’t tell, but the very thought of Zayn being hurt makes him forget about the thunder roaring outside and the dark thoughts that were haunting him just moments ago. He reaches out to brush his fingers against his cheekbone, cursing when he feels hot liquid painting his fingertips red. “What the fuck happened?”

 

Zayn smiles dopily. “A beautiful girl happened - bitch has a boyfriend.”

 

“Of course,” Niall says, aggravated as anything. “Fuck, would it kill you to take care of yourself?”

 

“I have you to take care of me, don’t I?” 

 

Niall hesitates before responding. “Yeah - Yeah you do. Stay here a second.” 

 

“Like I’d fucking move,” Zayn says dryly and Niall can practically _feel_ the eye-roll accompanying those words. A grin tugs at his lips in spite of it all, the fear and the worry. 

 

He makes quick work of groping in the dark, making his way around retrieving one of the candles Liam has in his room for _god knows what_ , then locating a first aid kit in the kitchen. When he’s back, Zayn is on his feet, and is already inspecting his face best he can in the darkness. “Candle?” Niall offers sheepishly.

 

“A man after my own heart,” Zayn says with a smirk, taking the first aid kid. “Hold it up, yeah? Wouldn’t want you making a mess of things so I’ll do this on my own.” 

 

Niall scoffs but does as he’s told, watching with too much interest as Zayn cleans the cuts on his face without even flinching. When he’s done, he snaps the box shut and places it on the table by the door. Niall places the candle there, too. “Feeling better?” He asks softly, looking up at Zayn and reaching out to lightly touch his bandaged cheek.

 

“Yeah,” When Zayn says this, there’s a husky edge to his voice Niall does his best to ignore.

 

‘ _Don’t sleep with Zayn.’_ is echoed in his mind again and his fingers flinch away, as though burnt.

 

Zayn grabs his wrist. “Why do you always do that?” He asks, voice hoarse and Niall’s not sure he can handle this.

 

“What?” He asks, a tremor in his voice that matches the shakiness of his hands. 

 

“Pull away from me,” Zayn answers with ease, backing Niall against the very wall he’d collapsed against earlier. Their eyes meet in the poorly lit entryway and Niall’s breath hitches. “You’ve been crying.”

 

“I don’t like thunder,” Niall murmurs, eyes darting from his eyes to Zayn’s lips and then back up again. Zayn seems to notice, pupils blown wide with lust all of a sudden. 

 

“You seem fine now,” Zayn says, and it’s no longer like they’re _just_ talking about thunder, because Zayn’s arms are caging him in, pressing him up further against the wall and he can’t look down at his lips without being extremely indiscreet because they’re so close now - _he’s_ so close now. 

 

“We can’t,” Niall argues uselessly, desperation colouring his voice.

 

“Why?” The bastard presses his hips forward, and _Christ_ that’s unfair Niall thinks, making an awful keening noise in his throat. “You want to. I want to. Fuck, I want you, Niall.”

 

Just like that, Niall’s resolve is thrown out the window, and as Zayn leans down experimentally, ghosting his perfect lips over Niall’s he can’t help but arch upwards and claim those lips as his own. 

 

Despite the fact Niall is the one who made the first move, Zayn takes complete control. He kisses Niall masterfully, fitting their lips together with ease, like Niall was made for him, like tugging at his pliant lips and mapping out the corners of his kiss-swollen mouth is his craft. The blond’s thankful for the fact they’re pressed so closely together that he’s practically pinned to the wall by Zayn’s body, because if he weren’t the sheer perfection of the kiss would have brought him to his knees. For Niall’s part, all he can really do is clutch fistfuls of Zayn’s shirt before smoothing his hands up his chest, around his neck, into his hair, and _whimper._ Pathetically moan against the boy’s mouth until he feels his teeth nip at his lower lip, and then Niall _does_ move. He kisses back with just as much intent, pouring in the passion of every kiss he’d left undone, sliding his tongue along the expanse of Zayn’s lower lip. 

 

The only warning he has is a growl before he’s off his feet, Zayn gripping him by the undersides of his thighs and pulling him up against him, blunt nails digging into the flesh of his legs. Niall’s legs lock around Zayn’s waist and he can’t help but roll his hips upward against the heat he can feel between them or the moan that rips out of his throat right afterward. “Fuck,” Zayn hisses both in anger and wonder, tearing Niall away from the wall, probably to make his way to the bedroom but ends up pushing him against another wall on their way impatiently. There’s a roar of thunder outside, but it’s deafened entirely by the beating of his heart and boiling of the blood in his veins. They’re in their own world again - though Niall thinks Zayn’s been his whole world ever since he found him the first time. Zayn whispers something like _you’remine_ against his lips and Niall moans in agreement, threading his fingers through his hair and kissing him frantically. 

 

They go like that for a while, kissing desperately and only breaking off when they’re absolutely starved for air. Then they’re moving again, only Zayn manages to make it all the way to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him and spinning them around to press Niall against it. His hands move from his thighs to cup the swell of Niall’s hips, rubbing circles into them and Niall swears, absolutely swears he’s never wanted anyone as much as Zayn Malik, never wanted anything as much as he wants to put his mouth all over the boy. He feels his shirt being pushed up and raises his arms to let Zayn tug it off, hisses in both delight and discomfort when he feels his hands, ice-cold from the outdoors, flatten against his abdomen and slide up his chest. 

 

What happens next is a bit of a blurred mess. All Niall really knows is that one minute they’re snogging against Zayn’s door and Niall’s trying very hard not to rip Zayn’s shirt off, and the next they’re on his sheets and there’s skin against skin, and he’s thinking that there should be limits to how perfectly two bodies can align with one another because if his heart spikes up and beats even faster, he’s certain he’ll die. “Niall,” Zayn groans into his mouth when Niall grinds their lengths together. “Have you - you ever?” The question is remains unfinished, but he knows what he was about to ask, and Niall’s eyes shoot wide open. 

 

“Yeah,” He whispers, then practically begs, “Don’t - don’t worry about it.”

 

He doesn’t want to tell Zayn more, doesn’t want to think about that part of his life, the part he’d locked away in a pandoran box the minute he stepped out of Ireland. So, instead he pulls him closer, makes him gasp against his lips and scrapes his nails at angles on the boy’s shoulders until he’s forced to blindly search for a bottle of lube. It takes twice as long to find a condom, but when he does. After being an excruciating tease with the amount of time he spends preparing Niall for this. When he slowly presses up into Niall’s heat, the blond boy can confirm with all honesty that he was probably made for Zayn. 

 

A series of flossy moans tear out of him and Zayn drags his lips along the side of Niall’s throat. “Fits like a glove,” He mumbles into Zayn’s hair, before those slow thrusts turn into hard hitters and Niall can’t _think_ coherently, much less form words that don’t sound like Zayn’s name.  

 

-x-

 

When he wakes up, Zayn’s face is pressed into his shoulder, and his arm is wrapped around his waist. He is reminded of the first time they met, _really_ met, when Niall woke up in Zayn’s bed beyond confused that he was there in the first place. A happy smile tugs at his lips, and he manages to twist in the boy’s arms, just enough so that he can brush their noses together, nuzzle his cheek. The boy’s stubble prickles his skin, and Zayn scowls in his sleep because _of course_ , the moody bastard can’t even smile in his dreams. Affectionately, he pushes forward to press a feather-light kiss against the bridge of his nose.

 

But there’s something, something at the back of his mind, which was until this point pushed down by hisses, and moans and this one thing Zayn can do with his hips that’s probably illegal in the entire UK and Ireland, slips into focus. Smears his blind happiness with a dark cloud. 

 

_“Yeah, no - no fucking with the Bradford Bad Boy. No one who does ever stays, Zayn won’t let ‘em so - no sex with Zayn.”_

Realisation and fear sink into him, eyebrows shooting upward as he shrinks back slightly. Without a second thought, he slips out of Zayn’s arms and slides out of the bed. Scrambling for his clothes and making sure he’s completely dressed before practically running out of the room. He can do this, he can run away from Zayn as long as he needs to. It’s what he’s good at, pretending he’s invisible and inaccessible. He can handle this, but what he absolutely can’t ever handle is Zayn pushing him away himself. So, he runs away - slips into the kitchen and says good morning to Liam like nothing happened last night, says that he’s popping out for some fresh air, and _vanishes_ , trying desperately to ignore how his heart clenches with agony as he does this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the warm and welcome reads and the questions on my tumblr. :] They were very encouraging. This is horribly not proofread, but I'll snip around and fix things as I find them. Happy reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spin-off of my main multi-chapter fic "Road to Ruin" featuring most of its main cast. It's going to cover Niall's backstory. It'll be in divided into three parts. :]


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